


CS Drabble Time

by baiservole



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 03:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 7,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2677376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baiservole/pseuds/baiservole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Captain Swan drabbles off of my tumblr. Various settings & of varying length & ridiculousness. Lots of AU, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. #1

Every time she catches sight of him, she knows one thing for certain - she’s never getting back those missing heartbeats that her heart loses because of him. Everything is because of him.

Her anger, her rashness, her frustrating inability to make sense, to focus on anything other than the way her skin tingles every time his gaze lands on her trembling form. Nobody sees those tremors engulfing her body, for Emma is nothing if not fiercely guarded but one of these days, oh, she is certain - she is going to crack the slightest, tiniest bit and yet that will be more than sufficient for someone, or, more importantly, him, to notice her most shameful secret to date.

She is falling, fast, and feeling too much and too sudden, her heart and her head, the ever battling enemies are making her weak, and he is making her weak - so weak with desire, it takes most of her strength and a lot of clenched fists to keep it at bay. 

One of these days he’s going to see through her and flee in horror and she will be left alone, yet again.

Alas, her heart has other ideas and persists in telling her its beloved fairytale - of a pirate that loved a princess enough to stay, not run.


	2. #2 - Magic

“Hold me,” a murmured whisper broke him from his reverie, caressing his skin. Hers glowed slightly under the moonlight, and he could almost see the magic bubbling inside her underneath the surface. Taking a measured step towards her, he noticed her sharp intake of breath as if she were bracing herself for what was to come. Another step further and his hands travelled up hers, leaving goosebumps in their wake and, finally, embracing her slightly trembling form. 

“Are you sure?” he breathed in her ear, bringing her even closer to him. Drawing back to see her answer, his eyes got caught in the silvery trap of hers. Transfixed, he could only return her small nod. Lips quirking up a little, she cocked her head to the side.

“Don’t be afraid.”

“Never,” he replied indignantly, with a hint of a smile on his own lips - lips that belonged from now on to one person only. 

It was her turn to hug him tightly, clinging to him with all her might. Finally, she breathed, “Close your eyes and don’t let go, whatever happens.”

The tightening of his embrace was all the answer she needed.

He heard her murmur a few words and then suddenly her skin grew warmer than ever - and it got hotter with each passing second, setting his own aflame. She let out a gasp and then, even behind close eyelids, he saw light bursting from her form.

He chanced a slight peek, despite her orders not to, and took a staggering breath when he saw what surrounded them.

A billion stars shone in the night, dancing around them, while he and his one true love were floating, suspended in space. Bright rays of blinding light were shooting from her body into all the corners of the cosmos around them, dancing from one star to the next, leaving trails of stardust in their wake. The stars touched by the light grew even bigger than it was possible, almost bursting at the seams. His eyes grew wide when it was finally clear to him what Emma was doing: creating a billion new worlds with the purest light emanating from her form. His breath hitched and tears gathered in his eyes, threatening to spill over. 

Nobody in existence was allowed to see such a spectacle.

And yet, here he was, privy to it all - the secret of all creation. A feeling of such indescribable and somehow painful happiness filled his chest. Not only was he blessed with witnessing the most awe-inspiring vision that existed, but she - she was the reason for it all. 

It was time to let her know how irrevocably altered he was by her. His lips sought hers, almost blindly, but it didn’t matter for her answering touch made him literally cry with joy. 

… Could a man get higher than that? Eons of stars danced around them and yet he had eyes only for her.


	3. #3 - Kissing

It happened so quickly that neither of them had the time to actually step back, take a moment or even question the undoubtedly, - from a reasonable point of view, - horrible decision they were about to make. 

Collide. Connect. Gasp. Warm. Wet.

What did they know about kissing? Nothing, really, except for pure mechanics - touch, suck, bite, tease. Tongues flicking, invading their mouths; teeth clashing, nervous laughs, gasps, repeat. 

What they didn’t know was that with people like them and with a kiss like that there were bound to be some pretty uncomfortable consequences. Like feeling that your very soul was heating up, bare like a naked wire, begging to burst into flames at the merest touch. Suddenly, she knew him and he knew her; but neither of them, if questioned, could’ve told you how on earth was that possible.

No, they were wrong, - together and apart, - so very poisonous for each other, or so they believed.

He brought her closer. She moaned. He caught her next gasp and transformed it into something far more intimate - a silent declaration.

Me, you? We’re stuck together. 

Take me, or I’ll dissolve into a million different stars.


	4. #4 - No One Like You

"I’ve never seen anyone quite like you, Swan."

"Was it my right hook?"

He leans in closer and chuckles at her bemused expression.

"No, it was your eyes."

Her mouth forms a perfect ‘O’ and her hands itch to get closer to him, although she’s still under the mistaken impression that when it comes to him, she can control herself and her frankly rather disturbing impulses, so they stay at her side, desolate and yearning.

"You make it sound like they’re something magical."

"You are magical. Everything about you. So magical that it just seems… natural to you."

She gulps and lowers her eyes. 

"Killian, this is too much."

He sighs and yet there’s a slight smile playing on his lips.

"There can never be enough, Emma. Not with us."


	5. #5 - The First Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can probably count as M-rated, be warned.   
> Slightly M-rated?   
> Anyways.

“Did you just…”

“Y-yes. H-hold on.”

He made a strangled noise when she shifted, slightly, and leaned in to her ear:

“You’re being evil.”

“Ah, that’s rich, coming from you.”

He started to slip out when she made a very undignified whimper but then slammed back in, unceremoniously, making her gasp and swear like he’d never heard her swear before.

“Don’t you… fucking… dare… stop, Jones!”

Slamming once again, he leaned in and started to kiss her neck, languidly, despite his quickening pace. The noises she made didn’t help matters, either, making him yearn for some sort of iron stamina that could actually make it possible to prolong their first… physical union. 

The point of no return, alas, was made when she gasped ‘Killian’ in a strangled whisper, turning him from a reasonably well-behaved pirate to a sea-born animal that somehow ended up in his cabin. 

Ravishing her wasn’t an option - it was a requirement. 

They were going down in flames.


	6. #6 - Mawwiage

The first time he asked her to marry him she accidentally hit him on the head with her sword. It was all she could do instead of running him through with it, really, and for all his moaning and cursing he actually should have been very grateful that she hadn’t done something worse. You don’t ask such treacherous questions in the middle of a heated swordfight lesson which Emma might have or not been steadfastly losing but hey, it was all his fault, she figured, either way, so, no, she wasn’t particularly sorry for that. All he got was something resembling an apologetic shrug but the ferociousness with which she sprang back into their fight made him pause. Also, his head. Ah, how much love hurt.

The second time he’d made sure her hands were empty before popping the big question. Alas, in the middle of the third word he found a hand pressed tightly against his mouth and wide, horrified eyes staring back at him. He tried to pry her hand away but she was having none of that. A brief struggle ensued. Needless to say, one of them ended up in the water. The identity of the unfortunate soul is rather obvious, at this point, of course.

The third time, he’d figured, was bound to work. When she finally found herself on the deck of the Jolly Roger, a wondrous sight greeted her – candles all over the place, rose petals and mouthwatering aroma of the most delicious dinner she’d ever had the pleasure to… well, smell. They ate, they talked but halfway through all his knee-dropping and will-you-marry-me-ing she accidentally managed to kick over a few candles on the very wooden deck. His murderous scream at seeing his (admittedly, second) favourite lady very much on fire still echoed in her ears days after. Doubtless to say any further attempts at luring her into the scary clutches of marriage ceased immediately. Still, Emma continued to be on her guard.

The very word simply terrified her, that was true but there was also such a stubborn refusal to, basically, commit. Fully. She couldn’t admit even to herself that yes, she had found the one she wanted most and no, she wasn’t about to let him go.

Days passed. Peacefully, un-proposedly. Hook purposely avoided discussing the subject, his expression turning sour and eyes narrowing every time Emma somehow managed to mention the ship. Ouch, that hurt. She didn’t even call him out on it, very much aware now that her chances at getting an impromptu ‘marry me’ were getting very slim thanks to her almost-destroying his second favourite lady. Ah, men. Honestly. But it didn’t really bother her. Marriage? She scoffed. I’ll pass.

Until one day she woke up. Figuratively and literally. She woke up in the arms of the person she called home in her head, trusted most and needed most every second of every day. Something snapped, like a bowstring and hit her right where it mattered – in that stubborn place in her head that furiously refused to admit simple but very important things. Eyes flew open. A gasp was heard.

He stirred and murmured a hoarse ‘good morning’.

The question was out before she could stop herself.

“Marry me.”


	7. #7 - Deep In Her Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angstiness, ahoy! Not of the nice kind.

The chilliest winter settled deep in her bones.

When they took Henry away from her, a crying, small bundle – a little human being that had her blood flowing through his veins – she felt like she could dissolve into nothingness. She had little to go on – be it will, strength – physical or emotional. Every step that took him away from her tugged at her heart like an insistent metal string, slicing through her skin and muscles.

But this… this was something else. A crumpled form lay a few feet away from her, a ghastly pool of blood growing ever bigger underneath it. Not a sound escaped the man in black leather, lying passively, as if accepting his fate. She knew why he’d done it. She wanted to find that morbid creature and made it kill him all over again for his stupidity.

He’d be hailed a hero. She would die alone.

Neverland’s unforgiving sun continued to warm her skin against her will.

And yet…

The chilliest winter settled deep in her bones.

For a moment there she welcomed it, relished in its deadly grasp on her life essence, her very being, clawing at her skin and making her eyes, almost, bleed. She would’ve preferred to let out each bloodied sob in the most horrific agony – everything – to this.

She stood, unmoving, instead.

“I will never forgive you,” she suddenly spat in pure fury and collapsed a moment later on his too-still body. The desire to become as still and lifeless as him was all-consuming and little held her back. If we could, just one last time, feel warm and loved, and tell each other of all things that really mattered.

“You will never now how much I cared,” her shadow breathed, welcoming the oncoming darkness.


	8. #8 - How Dare You

"Goddammit, Swan, what on earth did you think you were doing?!" Hook continued to yell, his face livid and turning almost scary in his fury. She stood, stunned, before him, unable to meet his gaze, still drenched and shivering from the cold water that almost became her ultimate undoing a few minutes ago. She couldn’t say that she was sorry for pushing him out of the way and ending up in that freezing pond herself - and goodness gracious, was he really mad at her for saving his life? Was that such a hard concept to grasp, that someone might actually want to help him, that not everyone was an enemy, least of all her, unless, of course…

No. She mentally shook her head. 

It couldn’t be. Not in a thousand…

He was still yelling, describing all the horrendous things he would do to her next time she decided to make a fool of herself but she wasn’t listening, again, too stunned by the thought that had entered her mind, unbidden, and now stubbornly refused to leave.

Of all the things… Idiot, stubborn, maddening, infuriating, annoying idiot! Of all the things that he could’ve kept from her. How dare he.

Shaken to her core, she started to shiver again, violently, and he, finally, took notice of that instead of continuing to berate her. 

"Emma…" his whole face softened, instantly concerned and he took a hesitant step forward, bringing their bodies even closer. "Emma, I…"

Suddenly, she couldn’t take it anymore. Another second and she might burst from all the feelings that were threatening to spill over.

"For God’s sake, can you just shut up?" she finally exploded, taking the final step towards him and grabbing his neck, bringing their faces close. She could only catch the sight of his eyes widening in shock before their lips collided, eliciting the tiniest gasp from him and sending jolts of electricity right to her core.

The only sounds that came out of his mouth after that were moans of pure unadulterated pleasure. At least he wasn’t yelling anymore.


	9. #9 - Perhaps I Would

"You talked about wanting to know me… But the thing is, I think… I think none of us truly ever figures it out. Who we are. Each morning I wake up and I’m slightly different, me from the day before is gone forever. Same with people you think you know – one day they make a complete u-turn and you’re the one left stranded, on the sidewalk, still reeling from that punch in the gut.” She finally turns to him, her eyes suspiciously glistening in the dancing light of the campfire. Her gaze is at once slightly challenging and yet hopeful, almost begging him to get inside her head and understand every conundrum she’s faced, every worry that’s been nagging at her, incessant and slowly eating away at her confidence in her own abilities.

Another deep breath. Another brow furrowed. A shuddering exhale.

“How are you not… terrified?” she ends with a whisper, lowering her gaze, clenching her fists. The gesture is small, a reflex, as if she’s forcing the words out and yet a few months ago it would’ve been a lot harder. What’s worse, a second later, when there’s still no response, the awareness of that fact slowly starts creeping in. What have you done to me.

Still no response. Giving up and moving away as far as she can seems like a great idea with each passing second. It’s getting harder to breathe.

Finally, an exhale. His.

“I’d see every new day as a blessing. Getting to know you anew each day. Discovering each new word, gesture, smile, every worry and happy thought that crosses your brilliant mind.” Finally, she looks up. It is almost annoying at this point how her stomach does little flip flops every time their gazes meet. A teenager with a crush? Not even teens must feel so lightheaded. Looking away is almost impossible - those eyes have become the most unlikely anchor in her life at this moment. Losing that heart-stopping blue… the mere thought is unthinkable and potentially destructive. Oh God, Emma.

He looks down for a minute, letting his lips quirk into a secret smile.

“Even being with you – that would be the greatest adventure I’ve ever had.”

There’s moisture on her cheek and it takes her a moment to realize – happy tears. That’s something new.


	10. #10 - As You Wish

She runs her tongue over her lips, desperately trying and already failing to find his taste again, and she knows, somewhere deep inside, how the absence of it might break her. 

Hands clenching and unclenching, itching to find their way into his hair again. Lungs mourning his air. Her heart stuttering and her stomach making teenage-crush-worthy flip flops. 

Eyes shut, she steels herself.

Firewood. He’s getting some firewood. She has a few precious minutes to compose her face, make her heart into granite and prepare another lie.

A one time thing.

My boyfriend?

A voice sneaks in before her granite heart stops it:

As you wish.

Her lips quirk upwards almost against her will, again, and she allows herself this temporary indulgence. Three words, a caress, a promise of something so beautifully frightening her throat constricts. A few minutes more and that will never happen again - she will avoid his searching, too understanding eyes, put much needed distance between their bodies, ignoring that curious and unsettling pull, and… break both their hearts.

That was her forte - avoiding, blocking and shutting herself off. She’d been doing so, so good before he came into her life and flipped it upside down, albeit the actual act went unnoticed by her until it was too late. Until she brought her lips to his and broke herself in the process. Deep down, she knows he’ll help her gather all those pieces. But he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t even exist.

She opens her eyes and takes a deep breath, starting to lick her lips again, unconsciously, before stopping abruptly and gritting her teeth. As you wish? Well, I don’t.

Until he finally comes back and their eyes meet. Her heart springs to life and her mind starts yelling obscenities. Emma, don’t you dare!

A second passes. It’s too late.

As you wish.

Maybe… I do.


	11. #11 - Scars

Emma had acquired quite a few scars in her lifetime so far. Some itched, some hurt once in a while, some were simply… there. A reminder. Don’t do that. Don’t go there. Don’t trust them. Scars had been simple to categorize and to be dealt with up to a point. A point that now had a name and startlingly attentive eyes.

She didn’t even notice it at first until it stayed there, slowly burning into her skin. It was a simple touch, fingers brushing and she would’ve shrugged it off, an annoying pesky afterthought, had it been any other case. But it stayed there. And she felt it. And it wasn’t going away. No one could’ve seen it and yet she just knew. A scar to be traced only by memory, the first of many but how could have she known it then? Blissful naivety had been her temporary salvation.

The next time there was more. It involved sharp pain, the trickling of rum down her skin, his nimble fingers taking care of her wound and his lips dangerously close to leaving another invisible scar of barely manageable proportions, or so she suspected. It took quite a bit of time to recover just from the ones she’d received.

The skin on her palm was busy knitting itself together, burying evidence she would’ve preferred to forget, soon leaving only a faint pinkish scar as a reminder of his care. Her fingers liked to touch it now and then without her conscious knowledge, lightly running over brand new flesh and around it, recreating his gentle yet insistent touch. Yet once she’d noticed it, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Everything else felt cold, numb while the scar blazed with fire, struggling to move forward, to spread, to engulf everything living, to consume her. Alas, it was weak on its own, however insistent and yearned for the return of its source. Hush, little scar, she thought. What a ridiculous idea.

It was a beautiful scar, to her eyes. At least, the only one she could actually see on her skin that was tied to him – after healing that one, he’d given her so many others – blazing cracks in her shell that grew more with each day. She feared that one day one of them would grow too big for her and all that she felt, all the fire that’d been getting stronger with each day, roaring lava of feelings, would burst through the opening, destroying every last defense she’d managed to come up with in a desperate attempt to withstand him.

Did she manage to leave any scars on him?

Did that kiss leave as big of a burning scar on him as it had on her? Did it make everything else seem as cold and lifeless?

Her fingers itched to find out. After that, her lips would follow.


	12. #12 - Hardest of Hearts

It sizzles between them, white hot, like a live wire – always had, from the very first moment they’d laid eyes on each other.

A stubborn princess, coddled from her very birth, the darling of the whole kingdom, her hair glistening like the golden treasure she was, fair and pure of heart. Everyone bent to her will and her slender hands. Everyone was at her command. She knew no bounds, no rules and no defeat.

A pirate captain, with a feral grin and devastating blue eyes that said to pierce the unfortunate onlooker to the very depths of their soul. Ferocious, reckless to the point of (some said) stupidity which (unfortunately for them), nevertheless, proved time and again his only saving grace. He took what he wanted without a hint of apology in his wake.

He wanted her and she wanted him on his knees.

Another (unfortunate, again, some said) encounter, another taunting duel, another doomed promise branded on each other’s skin.  
“You’ll surrender,” vowed she, clutching her wounded side, blood seeping through the rich fabric of her tunic, coating her pale fingers. Refusing to heal herself with her magic, she relished the pain and the adrenaline it brought, instead. Alive, so terrifyingly and blissfully alive – her whole body thrummed with lethal energy, ready to lash out at him again, if needed be. No one said no to her, none dared and none wanted to and yet here he was, denying her what was rightfully hers – his service and unquestioning obedience. Oh, to break him. To make him kiss her feet.

“You’ll be mine,” swore he, breathing heavily, limping – for she was as breathtaking as she was dangerous with a sword – and he should’ve cursed all the gods for coming across this treasure all those months ago. He didn’t pay attention to the pain, for it was inflicted by her, his eyes appraising her form instead, drinking her every feature in, as if he could possess her with his unyielding gaze alone. Oh, to steal her, to have her all to himself, to have her – that would make him the owner of the greatest treasure of all. Living, breathing gold. Living, breathing nightmare, dream, desire – all rolled into one. Oh, to make her his.

It was bound to end badly. Iron against gold, sea against fire, one cold heart against the other – both tried to melt and got broken in the process. Neither could survive the meeting of their lips intact, for it was inevitable, like a long-feared prophecy finally (terrifyingly) coming to pass. Lips clashing, feverishly breathing in each other’s air in gulps for fear of being torn apart, hands clutching at clothes till knuckles turned white, every broken moan a triumph for the other, blood roaring in their ears…

The end was not kind. The princess took a shuddering breath and staggered back, raising her sword to his neck. “Get. Out.” a whisper, a half-plea, an order he was ready to refuse. He stared back, unflinching, till the steel drew first blood from the tender flesh of his neck, finally bringing him back to earth. “Aye,” answered he, taking a measured step back and feeling his body cry out for hers. So much for owning this treasure. “Until we meet again, your highness.” Her face set in stone, her suddenly cold eyes met his and crushed him before her next words finished him for good.

“No, we won’t.”


	13. #13 - The Stranger

At night, in her deepest, darkest dreams, she loves a one-handed man with a heartbreaking smile and eyes that know too much.

At night, she tastes true love on her tongue. Rum, spice, sea and home. It sucks her dry and consumes her whole – there’s nothing left behind for this love knows no bounds, no grand declarations, no empty kisses. His gaze devours her whole while his lips touch her white knuckles fervently, reverently, with a dangerous promise: I will find you.

She shivers in her sleep.

By day she is happy – happy as one can be, enjoying a life that sometimes seems just a little too good, a little too easy. Magical, in a sense that makes her frown for a second and actually think about it but, goodness, what a ridiculous notion, so she lets it go. It’s not that she’s been exceptionally lucky – by her standards, the fact that she has any kind of happiness at all, that’s what still manages to surprise her. But, she checks herself, one mustn’t be too judgemental of one’s happiness. Or it will swiftly be taken away.

She hugs Henry extra tight for good measure.

At night, she’s reminded again that there – may be – something… more to this, more than she can ever imagine. A dream of a dream, a yearning for something (for her – extremely) forbidden for how can one handle so much happiness in one’s life? So much love, so much unquestioning devotion in his gaze it is unsettling, frightening, exciting and feels so right.

A tear, unbidden, slides down her cheek.

I can’t have you, she whispers to him, shaking in his embrace, or I’ll lose everything I have. He just nods, grave and a second away from breaking into thousands little pieces. For he is hers and she just destroyed him with her breath against his cheek.

When she lays her eyes on him for the first time in harsh daylight, his eyes are incandescent, so hopeful she almost kisses him back fully, after. And then it’s dark, twisted torture, because deep down she knows why he’s here and she’s terrified. The closed door between them brings instant relief and then – pain, razor sharp, one heart in two.

I still can’t have you.


	14. #14 - Make Her Remember

His fingers itch to wrap around her own, to ease her worries with gentle, careful caresses – careful enough as to not spook her off, - to pour his own endless conviction in her strength, the one she’s not that keen to believe in sometimes, to pour his love for her that sometimes threatens to burst through the cage of his body and leave him, only to be reunited with her, the beginning of its journey and its end, for there’s nothing out there except her.

He’s tempted to scoff, if only for a second. Such sappiness, such hopeless yearning. A part of him barely dares to cross the ‘less’ out and cling on to ‘hope’. But one word from her, the one he’s kept in his mouth, safe, under lock and key, for a whole year and here he is. The saviour doesn’t remember but he sure as hell does.

Maybe a part of her doesn’t really want to because in the deepest recesses of her heart Emma knows what is it that she might lose once her fake memories make way for the real ones. All the heartbreak, the pain and, worst of all, the realization that it’s not real, it’s not true and only a sweetened lie. Worst of all, it would be him causing her all this pain – ‘don’t kill the messenger, love‘ – messenger or not, he doesn’t want her to suffer. Anything but this. But her family is in danger. I’m sorry. They need you. I… need you.

He crushes down his doubts with steely resolve. If anything, he knows Emma enough to be certain that happy life or no, she would want to save her family even if she doesn’t know them. He’s also certain that if he didn’t show up at her doorstep and warned her of what had befallen her parents, she would’ve hunted him down and ended his miserable existence. Ah well. That’s better, Killian.

Her hands shake when she accepts the vial from his.

“I’m not going anywhere, Emma,” he vows and his heart soars when her lips, obviously despite her better wishes, quirk up and a slither of hope lights her eyes. Even in this bizarre version of her life she’s not used to such promises, not in the slightest, especially when someone fully intends to follow that promise through.

“I have a feeling that you’re not,” she quips, then closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She’s scared, he knows it, even though she’s desperate to conceal her fear but he, he feels her, her every emotion and oh god, the urge to hold her close is so damn overwhelming, to let her bury her face in his neck, to breathe in her scent and murmur sweet, ridiculous nothings in her ear to make everything better…

So he does just that. Nice one that, Killian.

She doesn’t knee him in the groin, though, and he drinks in her warm scent, hungrily.

Good.


	15. #15 - Just This Once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> M-rated, probably.   
> Oh, I wouldn't know.

“Don’t…” she gasps, feeling him move more insistently inside her, “don’t overthink this.” Her nails dig deeper into his biceps, trying, in vain, to keep from crying out because, oh god, nothing ever, ever has come close to this heavenly feeling of him, him everywhere, inside, outside, on her skin, on her lips, inside her most secret of places.

“I’m not, I’m not…” he mumbles, his words muffled when he buries his face in the crook of her neck and yet she catches his words – always has, always his quiet ones that nobody paid attention to – and wants to sob in relief because for once, for one amazing moment, she’s not alone in this madness. This all-consuming – and then her train of thought gets immediately lost when he starts moving faster, whispering gentle, painfully loving endearments onto her skin. She desperately wants them to stay there, forever, branded into her as a reminder of love once found, and lost.

“It’s just… if we were…” he continues before she interrupts him, afraid of what he’ll say next:

“Shhhh. It’s okay.”

Wanting to forget herself, fully, she decides to move and flips them over, almost crashing over the edge of the bed in her clumsiness but he catches her in time, strong hands gripping her hips, deliciously, painfully. They’re still for a moment, just gazing into each other’s eyes, trying to find all the answers that matter.

She moves a fraction.

He produces a guttural sound that makes her chest constrict. 

When she finally crushes her lips to his, she can swear he makes a choking sound, a tear, a sob – but then he starts moving faster and the only thing left in her mind is this feeling, melting her from the inside.

Faster, faster.

His hands dig harder into her hips, and yet she doesn’t care one bit – she’s never felt so close to, well, heaven before – there’s no other way to describe it – and she hopes with all her battered heart, that neither has he. Wishful thinking.

Faster, oh god, faster.

In the most clichéd of ways, stars explode behind her eyelids – stars that only exist in his universe, where they’re together, united and whole, with nothing standing between their yearning for each other, between their lo- and she stops the thought before it can finish itself, a chill running down her spine. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, oh god, of all the men…

The stars continue to explode, leaving her more naked and exposed than before but she doesn’t care, not one bit, for these few glorious seconds. Her whole body is one live electric wire, setting everything around her aflame – and him, too, she hopes. There’s nobody she wants as burnt as him.

She is his and he is hers if only for this moment. She’ll hate herself later.


	16. #16 - Giving In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, quite possibly M-rated.

His mouth ghosts over the bare skin of her shoulders, making the shivers travelling down her spine feel almost painful. One playful nip, slightly hesitant at first, then – another, when she stills, again, without a word. She just holds her breath. Oh god, it’s actually happening. The realisation, both horrifying and elating, finally sets in and she freezes, fully and only then he stops, his mouth inches away from her skin, still as a statue, too. Neither will move until the other does.

A power play of sorts, or a game of chicken – she’s not really sure which one. There’s still so much to know, to explore, to taste, to feel – and they’re finally getting it. She would’ve dived headfirst into the coveted whirlpool but not… first. Something’s holding her back.

Well, a lot is holding her back, if she’s completely honest with herself.

(The thought is swiftly pushed into the deep recesses of her mind because she’s not that masochistic. Yet.)

A light breeze makes her shiver and, at last, move – she gives in first, even if involuntarily. (Or maybe her better judgement finally cracks, unable to withstand the pressure. Delicious, torturous pressure.) Something tells her it will be back, some day, to haunt her. Or break her. Again, she’s not sure which.

And then there are barely any coherent thoughts in her head because his mouth is on her skin and it’s relentless in its need to taste her. Preferably everywhere.

His right hand grips her hip and only then she realizes that she’s shaking – no wonder her legs can barely hold her up.

What are you doing to me, what are you doing to me.

It’s pain and freedom and heaven and oh god she’s shaking so badly. His are the only hands that can keep her steady, from falling into the abyss of her own making and the only ones to bring her immeasurable pain – not yet, but they will. That won’t be their intention but she’ll still feel it – the pain of their last touch, of the knowledge that ‘never again’.

She chokes back a sob. Turns abruptly in his almost-embrace, leaving his mouth tasting empty, unforgiving space. Their eyes lock, desperate and cautious – until they both come to the decision that was bound to happen from the very first time they came into each other’s lives.

It only takes them another lost second to finally claim each other’s lips – owners, beggars, lost ones.

Mine, yours, I finally found you.


	17. #17 - One Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Divorced!CS AU.   
> (Also known as quite possibly my favourite trope.)

It’s that feeling, again, inside her chest – that suffocating monster threatening to spill out of her body and spell all of her secrets, one by horrifying one.

First: she still can’t get rid of his t-shirt even though it’s been more than two months and it’s dirty and smelly but it still smells like him.

Second: she still puts reminders with bad jokes and ridiculous insults on the fridge to buy this and that and for heaven’s sake, do this even though she knows he’s never going to read it.

Third: her bed is too cold.

The third one is the most closely guarded secret which, upon discovery, might lead to more incriminating facts which she sure as hell is never going to give up to him. That bastard.

She hates him, she hates him so damn much.

She hears him moving around in the bedroom, trying to find a few things he’s managed to forget since the last time he was in their – her, thank you very much – apartment. In fact, now that she has time to properly think about it, he’s been forgetting ‘this and – very important – that’ for a few weeks now, coming by her place once or twice a week under a seemingly – now, at least – innocent pretense. Why hasn’t she become suspicious of his behaviour before? She balls her fists in frustration. Arrogant asshole. He only comes to rile her up more, of course. What else could he – ever – possibly want.

“Well, I hope that’s the last of my stuff…”, he drawls, coming out of the bedroom with a faraway look on his face that quickly gives way to a smug grin upon seeing her extremely unamused expression.

“I swear to God, if it’s not…”, she starts scathingly only to be interrupted by his sing-song “Darling, let’s not be like that. Don’t you enjoy my invigorating presence?” At her overly exaggerated eye-roll, he only lets out a carefree, easy laugh. Again, what an asshole. It is all a fucking joke to him.

He drops the clothes he’s been holding in his hands on the couch before straightening and looking her over. Again, just to rile her up.

“You know what, darling, maybe it will be easier for us both if I turn over the whole place in search of your precious stuff and bring all of it to you, once and for all. And then we’ll never have to see each other ever. Fucking. Again.” Striding purposely towards him, she extends her hand for him to shake on their deal, which he hasn’t acknowledged yet. Too bad, it’s still going to happen. No more impromptu visits, no more ridiculous calls, no more Killian.

For some reason, her insides clench at the thought. (For fuck’s sake).

He eyes her stretched hand warily, as if it’s some kind of trick.

“You promise?”

Are you really ready for this to end?

“Of course.”

Never.

He nods thoughtfully, and finally grabs her hand, only to bring her closer, stumbling into his waiting arms. She stills for a second, breathing him in (it is a moment of weakness she’s never going to forgive herself) and then pushes him away.

“Just… leave, Killian. I’ll deal with your stuff later.” Her voice is suddenly so, so tired and the expression on his face turns immediately sad, with no trace of any previous merriment. He nods a beat later.

“Right. Leaving.” He grabs the bag he dropped earlier when he came in, moves towards the front door but halfway through turns around and swiftly reaches for her to give her a quick peck on the cheek. A second later he’s out of the apartment before she can even process what happened.

Suddenly, she’s struggling to breathe because her cheeks are burning and she can’t stop her trembling fingers from touching her face. It is never going to end with them, is it?

Only then does she notice that he left all the clothes he’d found on the couch.

For fuck’s sake.


	18. #18 - Before The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written before 'The Apprentice' aired.

She’s smiling – radiantly, dare he say it – at the waiter, asking about some complicated dessert he has no intention of tasting. Unless, of course, she insists and then he’ll just smile back and dig right in, with all the appropriate vigour.

Oh, gods. He is screwed, pathetically so. He reaches for the half-full glass of wine sitting before him, a welcome distraction, promising an even more welcoming burn down his throat. But no; he won’t. He has to stay sharp and focused, to make sure he remembers every single detail. To make sure she remembers everything.

Conversation with the extra obliging (Killian makes sure to give the lad a warning once-over, for good measure) waiter over, she turns back to him, that radiant smile still on her face. If he lived for the next three hundred years, he’d still be sure that it’s the most beautiful, nay, breathtaking sight he’s ever seen. It’s not her smile, exactly - it’s the way it lights her eyes up, as if from inside. If he were a hopeless romantic, he’d say it’s her soul that burns bright behind these luminous eyes. (Not that he’d ever confess to such a ridiculous thought.) 

She’s saying something now and he panics a little for missing those few words – again, every single detail is important and precious, and he can’t afford to lose even a few nonsensical comments. But no, she’s still talking about the dessert and then she’s telling him about that time she and Henry found this wonderful ice cream shop in New York… Her smile dims a little at the mention of ice cream but then it’s back again, and she’s telling him about that time Henry basically tricked her into going sailing on an old boat and…

And suddenly he’s reminded of his ship, and his crew, and the looting, and the numerous taverns, and Milah, and loss, loss, so much loss…

And then… coldness. Darkness.

Terrifying oblivion at the end. 

He catches himself almost in time, not allowing his features to betray his terror. It’s his luck that she’s currently looking down, still talking, still with a slight smile on her face, still before him, still alive, still… alive.

His newly reattached hand starts tingling and then jerks slightly, distracting him from his sudden gloomy thoughts. What –

A second later, it moves, of its own volition. He masks his gasp with a discreet cough, shooting Emma an apologetic smile when she looks up, curiously. Don’t let her notice. 

It moves again, slightly, closer to the plate. His eye finally catches a gleam of a blade – the dining knife lying carelessly on the plate and suddenly he gets it.

Fear strikes him straight through the heart. Not again, gods above, never again. It’s like the hand is poisoning his very blood, infecting all the healthy, hard-earned cells and he can only watch in horror as it inches closer to the knife. It’s as if it has a mind of its own, an ever-growing foreign presence in his very body taking said body over.

Suddenly the Crocodile’s words come back to him, warning him about his desire to reattach his long-lost limb. It’s still quite warm inside the restaurant but all he can feel is cold – a chill settling deep in his bones.

“… Killian?”

Heavens, let them survive through this.

I can’t lose you too. He pushes down a sob, almost choking. Oh, love. Something tells me you’re about to.

And losing his hand hurt a hundred times less than this horrible thought.


End file.
